Ava was not her daughter’s name. Her kids were Vivienne and Jay. Had the school made a mistake? “Do you mean Melissa and Nate Walker’s daughter?”

“You’re listed as one of Miss Walker’s emergency contacts.”

“Is Ava okay?”

“Yes. But it would be best if you picked her up.”

She’s caught it, Imani thought. What other reason could the school have for wanting Ava immediately removed from its premises?

Imani unconsciously touched her neck. As an athletic fifteen-year-old, Ava would probably be fine. But Imani was forty-two. She maintained a healthy body weight, which was in her favor, but she also suffered from mild asthma and, since the pandemic’s start, enjoyed a nightly glass or two of red wine. Statistically, she was far more likely than Ava to get very sick. And if she fell ill, who would take care of her own kids?

“Have you tried Melissa’s cell? She’s usually home at this hour.”

A sharp intake of air answered. Silence followed, as if the person on the other end had muted herself. Imani waited a beat before saying, “Hello?”

“Mrs. Banks, Ava’s parents are unavailable. It’s truly imperative that you come and collect her. This isn’t about COVID.”

Imani wanted to ask what it could be about. But something about the tone of the woman’s voice, an undercurrent of panic that pushed her words together, drowned out additional questions. Imani promised to be right there, hung up, and then returned her attention to her patients. “I am terribly sorry to do this, but I need to reschedule. There’s been an emergency.”

The husband nodded as if he understood but then flashed a hard look at his wife. Imani sensed that he hadn’t wanted to attend their session. Her abrupt departure would become ammunition in a later argument to cease therapy altogether.

“I will, of course, comp today and the next visit. We can even do this virtually, if that would be easier.” Imani grabbed her coat off a hook and then opened the door wide. “I am terribly sorry.”

The wife’s eyes crinkled with sympathy as she rose from the couch. “Kids come first.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

As Mrs. Halstead gathered her jacket, her husband strode to the door. Imani realized that he’d never removed his coat. Perhaps he hadn’t planned on ever getting comfortable. He exited with a gruff “good luck” and continued down the hallway, not waiting for his spouse.

Beneath her mask, Imani’s frown deepened. She felt terrible for the conversation that her female patient would soon face about the “pointlessness of therapy.” She felt even worse that, in this particular case, the husband was probably right.

“I’m sorry to have overheard.” Mrs. Halstead’s brow was tightly knitted above her mask. “But did you mention Nate Walker?”